


Our Names

by rainbowdots888



Category: Kanjani8 (Band), King of Otoko - Kanjani8 (Song)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Awkward Romance, Consensual Sex, Fluff, Gang Violence, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 19:46:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11904933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowdots888/pseuds/rainbowdots888
Summary: While waiting in the Hospital waiting room, Gnocchi reflects on his complicated relationship with his right-hand man.





	Our Names

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
> Here is a super short OS that was brewing in my head for a long time. It's nothing exceptional but I enjoyed writing it so much that I decided to post it here. Enjoy!

I can’t stay still any longer. The white hallway is echoing with noises, cries, and beeps and the flashing neon lights are piercing my tired eyes. It may be four in the morning for all I know. I asked the others to go back to our headquarters and I remained there alone, sitting on a bench, waiting for the operation to end. 

_It’s just a scratch._

That’s what he’s said when the guy who’d attacked me has stabbed him in the belly. A scratch. Fucking moron, really. It’s not just a scratch, it’s a stab. It bled profusely as I was panicking all by myself, holding his head up. 

And now, I must look like a desperate little wifey anxiously waiting for the news.

I brush my hair back, those black bangs falling over my eyes when we fight side by side. The same hair he dares to tuck behind my ear in a very tender gesture when I’m loving him. 

_I want to see your eyes_ , he says every time. 

Moron.

Who is he to me?

The doctor who entered the operating room with him comes out, running. He’s calling for help and I feel nauseous suddenly. What if he dies? 

Who is he to me?

He’s my right-hand man. He protects me. He’s a little slow sometimes. He doesn’t care about what people think. He loves food and above all, he loves drinking a pure green tea he always buys at the same very old shop. When he drinks it, he licks his gorgeous lips and purrs, closing his eyes for an instant that has the beauty of an eternity. I have those strange urges then, urges to make him mine and make him purr like this, just for me, because of me.

Who am I to him?

I’m his Boss. Sometimes he looks at me as if I were some kind of god. It’s embarrassing, but it tickles my insides just right, in a wave-like motion that goes from my crotch to my heart. The heart some others think is made of stone. Not for him, though. And here, on my bench, in the hospital, I realize it may be made of some fluffy and soft material instead when I think of him.

I don’t know what to think anymore, to be honest.

Who is he to me to make me cry like a girl, right now, in that waiting room?

Last night we were so close, he was so warm and responsive under my touches. I think I’ve cried as well when, breathless, buried deep into me and prisoner between my locked thighs, he whispered my real name, the one I’ve once told to him only. The name he suddenly remembered, overwhelmed by the tremors of his orgasm.

_Oh, Ryo…_

It was just a breath, just a whisper, but I’ll remember it forever.

If you die, Moron, I’ll make you pay. 

The doctor comes out a second time, and behind him, there’s a stretcher, pushed through the doorway by two nurses. There’s blood. I’m almost fainting.

But it’s not him, with them, it’s another man, crying and screaming. He’s not my Chimney and my heart is good for another ride on the roller coaster of my fears.

I stop some male nurse who’s running slower than the others with one hand. He looks afraid suddenly, I must look awful and every inch the bad guy I’m supposed to be. I ask him, finally, if he knows something about Chimney.

If he tells me that he’s dead, I’ll beat him up until he begs me for mercy. “Dead” is not the answer I want. Think well, boy, for I’m not the kind of man you’d want to piss off.

“He… He’s well, Sir. He’s been out of the operation room for an hour already. You can’t see him though, it’s…”

I don’t care. He’s well. 

I release the guy’s shirt and he stumbles a bit, surprised. The door to the ER hallway is opened and I sneak into it so fast that he can’t stop me. I don’t think he could have, anyway. 

My long leopard-print coat is floating behind me and I’m feeling better at every step, opening all the doors and checking all the rooms. I scream his name. Not his alias, no, not the name all my enemies have learned to fear, but his real name. His long and stupidly complicated real name that he had confessed to me the day I’d asked him what I should scream when he makes me come. He had turned pink all of a sudden, languorously whispering it into my ear as my hands were already busy with his cock.

I’m roaring his name louder at every empty room I meet and people are running all around me, avoiding contact. They’re afraid, I know. I don’t care, he’s well.

I eventually kick open the last door of this insanely long corridor with all my rage and he’s here, on a bed, half asleep because of the anesthetics. He jolts a bit at the noise but still feebly smiles when he sees me.

“Boss...” He says with such a little voice that I almost miss it.

“Shut up, Moron. Rest.” 

I sit on his hospital bed at first and then lie on my side, next to him. He’s so pale. I run my fingertip on the perfect line of his nose, his lips and the suggestive mole that adorns their corner. I don’t want to look down at his bandage so my eyes feast on his profile instead. I can’t help leaning in and kiss his mouth, lightly. 

“Don’t do that to me again, you hear?” I wanted this to sound like a threat but it’s sounding more like a sob. 

What is he to me?

“It was just a scratch, Boss.” He laughs a little and winces in pain. 

I shrug, maybe a little too strongly because it makes him wince a second time. I just hurt him and I feel bad.

Who are we to each other?

We are each other’s weakness and strength. 

We are one.

I cuddle as close as I can to his warm body, finding my usual place on his chest. I can feel his fingers tenderly playing with my hair.

“I think I love you, Tadayoshi.” I blurt out against his strong heart.

“Mmh. I know.” A tiny kiss is pressed on my forehead. His mouth is furry, he’s very tired but still tries to stay awake, for me. “... I love you too, Ryo.”

 


End file.
